


The Deployment Of Information

by gala_apples



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Bisexuality, Cuckolding, F/M, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 00:21:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20648123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: David has complete faith in his wife figuring out what they all need. He might know what they want, but she's the one with the skills to get shit done.





	The Deployment Of Information

**Author's Note:**

> Written for seasonofkink, for the prompt taboos.

During this whole ordeal David’s learned some pretty fucked up things about himself. Or at least things that past-life-him would have found disturbing. The thing about sliding into the mire is if you do it slow enough you begin to complain that your shoulders are cold, not that you’re waist deep in shit. So yeah, he knows exactly how many people he’d let die to save a loved one. He knows how to royally piss off the FBI. He knows he’s willing to let a friend get beaten to death, as long as it’s on the friend’s terms. And he knows he’s a white male cliche. Because, unfortunate as it is, he thinks he has a cuckolding kink. 

Well, not precisely. He’s too Kinsey Two for it to be one hundred percent about Sarah. David would be very pleased to get his own piece of Frank. Specific, oft-daydreamed about pieces, because for a long time his life was comprised of blasts of fear and adrenaline with long stretches of boredom between, and David defies any adult male to not spend some of that time jerking off. But a lot of it _is_ about Sarah. His loves his wife. There’s literally no question about that. He lived in a shithole abandoned basement for a year making sure she was okay.

That basement is where he was hoisted by his own petard- though that phrase seems more intense after watching Frank shove a grenade in the mouth of its own holder. See, towards the end of the Basement Era, Frank started visiting Sarah. Those visits were what made Sarah the most okay she’d been in a while. Hard to deny her a rare unpained smile at the cost of some flirting.

The first time David asks Sarah ‘would you have fucked him’, she gets mad. He gets cursed out for asking. He gets cursed out for leaving her in the first place. He gets cursed out for being a moron. They don’t speak for days. Leo and Zach can feel the tension, emotions both heightened and deadened by the realities of long term living with stress. David watched his children crumble and sharpen in different places through the camera, and he’s scared of falling back into that pattern once the ‘you’re alive!’ honeymoon wears off, but he can’t make this fight end. Not if he wants to get what he craves.

Sarah breaks first, starts a conversation about laundry and how many cartons of eggs to get the next time they’re out. Without him around his family fell out of the habit of keeping a grocery list on the fridge. He wonders if that’ll go back into place, or if it’s just another thing he’s lost. David tells her three or four cartons, he’s been in an omelette mood, and doesn’t mention what they were fighting about.

The second time David asks her if she would have fucked Frank it’s a slimmer rebuke; he’s an asshole and can go fuck himself. Sarah refuses to speak to him for a night. David knows he can’t explain why he’s asked again, knows his wife and knows if she doesn’t resolve her own feelings first talking will be worse than useless. For better or for worse, David’s an intelligence analyst. Searching for crumbs of truth and manipulating them for preferred outcomes is in his blood. It’s like a film major unable to unsee every splice and technique used in what should be a relaxing tv show- a life trajectory choice that’s permanently changed his outlook. 

The next handful of times he asks go the same way, and an outside observer might think he’s getting awfully close to being a possessive creep unfairly obsessed with cheating. They wouldn’t know how much he hates being in this shitty rut of fighting and then pretending it hasn’t happened because the revelation waiting in the wings hasn’t graced the stage yet. _I know Sarah_, David tells himself. It becomes a mantra as the situation they’re stuck in keeps on, a statement meant to stop his worries about this. _She won’t let it get too far_. 

Sure enough, finally Sarah cracks. Instead of snapping that he’s a jerk Sarah yells “how do you really want me to answer that, bud? You sure you want this? It’s just like your stupid career. Once it’s done it can never be undone.”

David can’t deny that his job selection fucked everything. Ambition destroys, clearly, because faking your own death doesn’t happen to Midwestern deputies. But he can’t go back in time and change things, so he might as well be glad his career warped him enough to find enjoyment in what’s to come. “Tell me. Would you have fucked Frank?”

“Yes!” Sarah finally roars, throwing her arms into the air, hands flinging out because Sarah has always spoken with her whole body. It’s a sight David will never not love seeing. “Yes, goddamn it.”

David nods. “I would have watched.”

He can practically see the train derailing in Sarah’s head. The argument she thought they were having is not happening. Instead of trying desperately to not think about the part of her that enjoyed having a new crush, the part of her that would have preferred the ‘husband is actually dead but I have a boyfriend’ timeline, and being furious about being made to confront that truth, Sarah’s getting a husband confessing to desired voyeurism. Not what she thought at all.

“What?”

He has to tell his part of it, now. His stance. He knows it won’t be too much for her, but it’s still unnerving to say the words out loud. Is it irony that has him flashing back to Frank telling him to buck up in the van the last time they saw each other, that flashback being David’s prompt to keep going? “Not with any acceptable reason, either, like expecting a threat coming in. I just would have watched.”

“David-”

“If he ever showed up to one of the dinners we invite him to, I’d still watch.”

Sarah runs her fingers through her hair and then shakes out any ruffling she might have created. It’s a sure sign she’s processing information. “Are you serious?”

“He’s an impressive hulking man who’s marshmallow on the inside. How could anyone not be a little attracted?”

Sarah looks at him for a minute without saying anything. Then she nods. It’s all the input David needs to know Sarah’s accepted his desires, that she’s accepted her own, and that they’ll be moving on accordingly. Sarah never was one for sticking her head in the sand.

David’s not expecting his dream given to him on a platter. For one thing, Frank’s still not coming to the house, despite beginning to respond to texts. For another, as far as Frank is concerned all the old reasons to not make a move still apply. Even if he did come over, it’s not like the man would instigate a kiss in the kitchen. David is lucky enough though that Sarah will use her knowledge to her filthy fucking advantage. Before everything went down they had a very healthy sex life fueled by Sarah being up for most things, not to mention the way she could describe them. The first safehouse bathroom fuck aside, David didn’t really feel at home until they fucked with narration. This time she uses her powers for good, murmuring several little imaginary nothings about how well Frank’s cock fills her up, how he’d grab her ass as she comes.

David’s always been a futurist, always believed in sticking negative things out until they change. It’s one belief cynicism hasn’t beaten out of him, largely because it’s consistently being proven true. This change is Frank eating dinner with them. He actually answers an invitation text. His reply is as abrasive as he is, and David is so fucking happy to read it.

It starts off entirely platonically. Leo and Zach for different reasons both insisted on having a seat at the table, and there hadn’t been a way to tell them no. Talk is light, school based, inconsequential. And then, thank god they fuck off. Maybe it makes David a bad parent to think, but show him a single parent that revels in their child one hundred percent of the time and he’ll eat his tac vest. Leo gets picked up by her friend’s mom for a nail polish and fancy smoothies in the morning party. Zach gets picked up by an older friend with a used car, and David is confident that his son and his five dickhead friends will drive around shouting shit at pedestrians for hours before crashing at someone’s house at midnight. With both the kids at sleepovers David and Sarah have Frank to themselves. Now they just need to make use of that opportunity.

It’s murky waters they’re treading. Ambushing Frank has a track record of capital-B-bad, no matter what the context. But not knowing if there’ll be a second dinner or if Frank will fade back into the shadows again means they can’t afford to wait to ask him to have sex with them. It’s pretty outstanding that Frank actually stands for it when Sarah gets in his personal space and kisses him. Not for a very long period, sooner rather than later he pulls away and starts to lecture Sarah. But for a few seconds he allows himself to want her. David’s worked with less intelligence in the past.

“David knows,” Sarah interrupts. “You know he knows, you’ve seen the hidden cameras.”

Frank growls, “I don’t ruin families.”

“You won’t be. David wants to watch.”

It’s not precisely what David wants, but it’s close enough and an easier explanation.

“The kids won’t be back tonight,” David offers. There’s no way he didn’t pick up on that already, Frank probably just thought this time would be used for an intervention about socialization. Putting the information in a new context should help.

“Really,” Frank demands. “This is really what you want?”

“Take your clothes off,” Sarah replies.

Frank calls her bluff. He strips like he’s just been splattered with blood and isn’t quite sure where the stab wound is; efficiently with detached curiosity. In mere seconds there’s a naked semi-stranger in their family home, and David gets such a primal rush from the juxtaposition that he’s nearly lightheaded. He doesn’t have the words to explain that there was no bluff to call, just stands taking in Frank’s scarred and delicious form, and the smile spreading across his wife’s face. Frank’ll figure it out soon enough anyway.

“We should go upstairs now.”

In the master bedroom things move no less swiftly. Sarah’s in full managerial mode, a skill set David’s always deeply appreciated. When she strips, David does too. He can see Frank checking Sarah out, first subtly, then more overtly as he seems to realise they’re not going to scream out ‘punked!’ or whatever the phrase is now that Ashton Kutcher’s moved beyond pop culture to helping sex trafficking victims. David knows his reaction shouldn’t be pride, but he’s already come to terms with his weird new kink, so fuck it. Frank wants Sarah, and Sarah wants Frank. Good for them.

Sarah tells David to lay down, so of course he does. On top of the comforter, because it’s easier to change a wet with fluids blanket than it is to dry a wet pillowtop mattress. Once he’s settled, Sarah climbs onto the bed and nestles against his pelvis. With Frank on top they’re like double parentheses: a secret inside a secret. David’s never felt better about his choices than now, having the silky skin of his fantastic wife pressed against his stomach while being able to look at Frank’s scars over her shoulder.

“Hold my pussy open so he can fuck me,” Sarah commands.

David can’t say no to what Sarah wants. Never is able. So he spreads her open. He’s not at an angle to see when Frank pushes inside his wife, but he can feel her pussy clench, struggling against his grip on her. He wonders if Frank’s a grower, not a shower. His previous glances gave him the proof of a soft cock proportional to the size of the rest of him, but not every guy stays that size. It’s the same kind of weird sexy envy that had David Googling cuckolding that now has him hoping so. It’d be hot if Frank was opening her in ways he never could.

He could adjust his hand and find out. Moving an inch over he’d be able to feel Frank’s cock as it plunges into Sarah. He’s just not sure if it’s a good idea. Actual physical contact makes it a lot more queer, and he has no idea if Frank is cool with being on that spectrum. Spooking him isn’t worth the thrill of feeling up his competition.

David lays there, supporting Sarah as she gets railed by an unlikely ally, by a hero, by a mass murderer. They’re so hot, both separately and together, and he knows, he _knows_ this is going to make Frank fade back into the woodwork until he figures out his own feelings, but maybe if he concentrates enough he’ll be able to hold enough memories of this to tide him over until Frank eventually comes around.

Sarah comes whimpering, everything David could ever want. Then she does something nearly inexplicable. She rolls off of him and lays her head on the pillow beside him. It’s not a not wanting to be touched in the afterglow thing, she’s usually pretty cuddly. The only thing David can figure is that she’s trying to not be a barrier between them. A kind gesture, but one that he’s pretty sure is going to end the night on a record scratch. 

“That all you want, me to fuck your wife?”

Or not.

The thing about Frank is he doesn’t really accept challenges. If he doesn’t want to do something, he simply won’t. If he _wants_ to do something, he doesn’t seem to consider any obstacle a challenge for him. Knowing that about him gives David the chance to dare him without actually damaging the consent of this event. “Would you give me any more?”

Frank knee walks and gets a little closer. Once he has a hold of David’s cock he says “your wife is really fucking hot”. David wonders if this happened in Afghanistan, service handjobs revolving around talking about women. Beyond being an evil son of a bitch, Billy was a pretty looking twink.

“Hell yeah. She is.” David can conform to Frank’s expectations for how male touch works. Woman-centric bravado is better than nothing at all. 

Curling his fingers around Frank’s cock is everything he didn’t think he’d get. It’s been a long time since college and his last boyfriend, but David tries his best. Frank has a foreskin, and David tries to not think _fun!_, but it’s a struggle. Once he glides his hand on the extra skin and Frank doesn’t tell him to knock it the fuck off, David can’t help but focus there. 

As much as he can focus, that is. Frank is as efficient a lover as he is anything else. It becomes clear pretty fucking quickly that Sarah didn’t get off from the novelty of it all, or even from the size of Frank’s dick. She got off on the technique. The stranglehold Frank has on his cock is nothing short of divine. David knows his toes are curling, he can feel the comforter against the tips. 

Predictably, Frank doesn’t stick around for the afterglow. The moment Frank’s come begins to mix with David’s own on his chest, Frank gets off the bed. 

“You don’t have to go. The kids still won’t be coming home until breakfast time,” Sarah offers. 

Frank shakes his head. “See you around,” are his last words, before he exits the room.

Sarah is visibly disappointed. David isn’t the in mood to mansplain why Frank’s footsteps thundering down the stairs mean he’ll probably be back, sooner or later. Sarah doesn’t want words from him, and he knows she’ll hear the wavering voice in his overcertainty. So instead he rolls onto his side and pulls his wife to him. She feels like safety, like home. He’ll never take holding her for granted, not ever again. Each touch is a gift.


End file.
